


With His Educated Eyes...

by goldenheadfreckledheart (orphan_account)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Birthday Sex, F/M, Smut, with a little fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4781840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/goldenheadfreckledheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellarke birthday sex. 100% smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With His Educated Eyes...

**Author's Note:**

> For [ughbloodybellamy](http://www.ughbloodybellamy.tumblr.com) on tumblr.
> 
> This is my first foray into smut, and I think that it maybe doesn't completely suck, but you can be the judge of that. *bites nails nervously*
> 
> Title from Halsey's Coming Down. Bonus points if you know the next lyric. Enjoy!

Clarke doesn’t have grand plans for her 23rd birthday. Octavia has insisted on dragging them all out to dinner later, but other than that, Clarke’s pretty content to be bored and lie around all day.

Luckily, Bellamy has some very specific ideas of what they can be doing  _while_  they lie around all day.

She wakes up that morning to his head between her thighs and his hand spanning the soft skin of her stomach beneath her t-shirt, keeping her anchored to the bed.

“Well good morning to you too,” she breathes, shivering as his tongue skims over the bundle of sensitive nerves at her center and then back down into her folds.

In lieu of responding, he reaches one hand up to lace his fingers through hers, squeezing briefly while his tongue draws lazy circles around her clit. Her free hand descends to tangle in his dark hair, pulling him closer. It only takes moments for her sleepy haze to fade and for her to squirm, grinding upward at each pass of his tongue, seeking more friction.

“Bellamy,” she mewls, “More.”

He grins wickedly up at her before pulling back—causing her to whine at the loss—only to return a moment later, with his hand this time, pushing two of fingers up into her already slick folds. His thumb skims infuriatingly, deliciously, across her clit and the fingers inside of her curl upward with each slow thrust, meeting the sensitive place there that sends her over the edge minutes later, her head falling back against the pillows, his name at her lips.

Using their still interlocked fingers, she pulls him up to her to kiss him. Long, languid, and warm.

His hands find their way up under her shirt again, drawing circles of heat into her skin. She moans into his mouth when the rough pads of his fingers cup her breasts, agonizingly slow in their journey up to her nipples. With a frustrated groan, she reaches down to palm him through his underwear and is rewarded with a, “Fuck,  _Clarke._ ”

In retaliation, he pulls her shirt up over her head, tossing it aside before taking her nipple in his mouth and sucking. Hard. The sound that leaves her mouth is some cross between a whine and a sharp inhale.

“Why aren’t you inside me already?” she asks, breathy, grinding her hips up against him. He groans and grinds back, his length pushing across her bare center, a shaking gasp leaving her lips of its own accord.

“Pushy, pushy,” he teases, grinning down at her, eyes dark, before pressing another wet, open mouthed kiss to her lips. He reaches toward the bedside table, but she beats him to it.

“I got it.”

Tearing the condom packet open with her teeth, she giggles up at him when she sees the yearning in his eyes.

“God, I love you,” he grinds out, voice rough as he drops his head to her shoulder.

With two fingers against his cheek, she pulls his face back to her, kissing him deeply.

She whispers her reciprocation—“I love you too”—against his lips, before pushing him back to make short work of the boxers that still hang low on his hips.

Looking up at him, she pulls her hand up the length of his cock before rolling the condom down, skimming her fingers up again afterward for good measure.

Then he’s kissing her again, pressing her down against the mattress and guiding himself inside her. He’s slow, easing in, letting her get used to his length before pulling out again. 

But soon an erratic buck of her hips has him collapsing into her, hand and fast.

“God, Bellamy,” she breathes while she sucks a mark into his shoulder, “Faster.”

He complies, like she knows he will, and she meets him thrust for thrust until he’s hitting the sensitive place deep inside her each time. The sound of their skin meeting and Bellamy’s reverent words consume her senses.

“That’s it,” he says, gravelly. Deep.

“You feel so good.”

“You’re so  _wet_  and  _soft_ Clarke.  _Fuck_ ,” he hisses.

“God, you’re so fucking…”

And then, finally, “ _Shit_ , Clarke, I’m—”

His words fall into her hair and her fingers squeeze his arm, “Wait for me.”

He brings his hand down between them to the place where she needs him, rubbing back and forth erratically until she’s putty beneath him, breaths coming out in whines and mewls as he thrusts into her.

“Clarke,” he says, his breath hot in her ear, “come for me.”

She falls apart at his words, clamping down around him, and he follows soon after with a series of fitful thrusts and a low, guttural moan.

When she opens her eyes again, it’s to lick softly at the bruise at his neck as he pulls out of her, tossing aside the spent condom before coming to collapse beside her, pulling her back against his chest.

“Happy Birthday,” he says, and she can feel his lips smiling into her neck as he peppers kisses there.

“You act like we don’t do that every morning,” she grins, reaching back to intertwine their fingers.

He just hums, running his thumb against her hip, “I could get you off again. If that would make it more special.”

She tilts her head back for a kiss, “I’m good.”

After a second she says, “How long do we have until Octavia barges in here to tell us we can’t stay in bed all day?”

He groans, arm tightening around her waist as buries his face in her hair, “Not long enough.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out on [tumblr](http://www.goldenheadfreckledheart.tumblr.com)?


End file.
